Shattered
by Danielle Thorn
Summary: This is the untold story of Johanna Mason, and how she came to being alone in the world with nobody left to love, the story of how her life was shattered into tiny pieces by the Capitol and the Hunger Games. Rated T for violence, language and mature themes


_**Chapter One**_

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><p>I keep embedding my axe into the tree, slowly getting the blade through to the other side. I wipe some sweat off my forehead and continue working into the afternoon. Tree after tree I cut down, every now and then hearing the familiar sound of another worker chopping through a trunk. Most people don't work on this day, those with children.<p>

They are allowed to sit at home and pray their family members don't get put into the arena. I really should be home with my own family right now praying for my safety. I can't even imagine how many times my name must be in that stupid ball. However, here I am, working to keep my mother alive. My father spends all his wages on overpriced booze, I spend mine on overpriced medicine. It is a pretty shit life, I must admit.

But that is the problem with being part of the underprivileged society. Being in District 7 is bad enough, with little to no luxuries at all, but the fact that I am part of the poorer area of this District is simply humiliating. The moment I get out of school I go cut down trees until I am forced to stop. Not great for a 16 year old girl. I let out a heavy sigh and step out of the way as another tree topples down, momentarily shaking the floor.

Just as I tighten the elastic around my hair, a sudden hand covers my mouth. I spin around instantly and find myself looking into familiar grey eyes. A muffled scream escapes my throat as I claw at him, resulting in scratch marks down his pale face. He has an unstable look in his eyes, warning me that he isn't in the right mind. He throws a punch at me and I dodge it with ease, slipping his hand off my mouth. "Fuck off Phox!" I shout at him, breathing heavily. He is well known for having some mental issues and unfortunately he seems to enjoy my company.

He growls at me and lunges for my throat. I twist around and struggle out of his grasp. We stare at each other, him in anger and me in panic. I try to figure out what his next action will be but he is far too unpredictable. I glance down and see the unmistakeable silver glint of something in his hand. Without a single thought, I take off. He grabs onto my hair and I shriek, before twisting his right wrist and desperately slicing the knife through my long light brown hair. With him no longer having any hold on me, I sprint off into the woods, tears streaking down my face.

As I reach my house I tentatively run my hand through my locks and pant heavily. I am about to go inside when I imagine my mother's reaction. Biting my lip, I stalk down the street, keeping a close eye ready to stop any movement. I wrap my arms closer around myself and shiver as I hurry to my friends' house. I reach the door and knock rapidly, chewing my lip nervously.

The door opens and Rachella opens it, a mildly confused look on her face. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be working?" she asks me as I shove her unceremoniously into the house before following. I shut the door behind us and let out a long breath.  
>"Phox," is all I can say but she nods, understanding me immediately. I turn my head slightly, showing her my hair. Rachella's eyes widen in surprise and she raises her eyebrows.<br>"Did he do that?" she asks. I laugh slightly and say,  
>"No, if he had done that then he would most certainly be dead. I cut it using his knife so he would let go of me."<br>"Oh.. do you need any help with it? It is a little.. abstract.." she comments.

I give her an 'are you kidding me' look and she raises her arms in mock surrender. "Hey! It was only a suggestion!" she exclaims, feigning innocence. I let out another laugh and she smirks at me before grabbing my arm and dragging me upstairs. We arrive in her small room and I gaze in awe like I always do, speculating the size of her house compared to mine.

She sits me down on a chair and roots through her drawers for some scissors. She walks around me and uses her hands to measure bits of my hair. "We should totally dye it Johanna!" she suggests and I roll my eyes. "No way am I going blonde," I tell her with a sigh and she shakes her head. "No, no. We could do it a darker brown, give you a 'don't fuck with me' look," she laughs. I shrug. "Sure, why not?" She smiles in glee then starts cutting my hair into a better style as we chat.

"What did Phox do exactly?" she asks cautiously.  
>"He covered my mouth with his hand with no warning, he is addicted to me in a weird.. creepy way," I say.<br>"Huh, romantic."  
>"Oh shut up," I laugh, slapping at her arm.<br>"I do feel sorry for him.. he really used to be quite nice," she comments, deep in thought.

"Yeah well he isn't anymore, not after the disease," I snap back. A few years ago an epidemic occurred in the slums of District 7, a disease which we were never really told much about. The Capitol gave us no information or medicine supplies so the Doctors couldn't do much. It killed off plenty of people and there are still some who are seriously ill with it, much like my mother. Some of the ones who survived went a little strange in the head. Many of them were locked up but the Capitol ordered those who could work to be set free. I mean, why would those spoilt pigs waste any labour, even if it came from people who are mentally unstable. As long as they get their supplies from each District, then they don't care about how they are acquired.

Most of the crazy people have ended up dying in some way or another, either from committing a crime or accidentally killing themselves. The officials say it is accidental but that just isn't true. There are a few people who have recovered from that state and they say it is like being trapped in their own body, unable to stop themselves. The survivors of the disease probably regain enough control to kill themselves so they don't have to live that way anymore. And anyway, with Phox I always disliked him. He was full of himself and rude and obnoxious.

His main goal was to make my life a misery. The fact that he is now a deranged mental patient looking out to kill me and who knows what else is very disturbing.  
>"Hello.. is there anyone in there?" Rachella asks, knocking on my head. I snap back to reality.<br>"Huh?" I ask.  
>"I asked you a question. Do you want to dye it or not?" she enquires, cocking her head to the side and admiring her work. She gives me a pocket mirror and I angle it so I can see most of my hair.<p>

"Do you like the style?" she grins, obviously proud of what she has accomplished. I nod, looking at it a bit more. It is quite short and choppy with many layers giving it a curved shape. The style is jagged and untidy looking. It gives me an edge, and it really has a 'don't fuck with me' vibe.  
>"My mum will kill me.. and my dad," I comment. She giggles then gets out a tub of hair dye.<p>

"I bought this ages ago but I decided to go blonde instead," she informs me.  
>"Have fun with it," I instruct her as she opens the lid and starts mixing up the gloopy brown mixture. Most people have always wondered why I'm such good friends with a pink loving blonde girly girl. And honestly, I often wonder it myself.<p>

We are such polar opposites yet we get on so well. I don't have many friends, I used to say I didn't have time for them but now I know that I'm just too rude and stubborn to be friendly with people. Some would say I am a bit of a lone wolf. Rachella dumps the cold gunk on my hair and I make a disgusted noise. "It stinks," I moan.  
>"Well what would you expect, it is full of chemicals," she replies, with a roll of her eyes.<p>

This is what really hits me hard about the upper class. They can just casually spend their money on things to make them prettier. It reminds me a little of the people in the Capitol, but at least we don't go around with purple skin and bright orange hair. I would never see myself wasting my money on vanity items, what is more important is food and clothing. As long as the clothes fit then they are fine.

I don't care about the colour or the material. When you're so poor that you can't even afford a house with more than two rooms it really does not make a single difference whether or not your shirt is blue or brown. And the same goes for food. I do try to buy nice tasting food but if it is bland then it is still good. Our District is portrayed as one of the better off ones, and to a certain extent that is true. But behind the scenes you get people who starve, people like me who have no meat on their bones and no money to buy anything luxurious.

Rachella puts her brush down and starts rubbing the chemicals into my hair and my scalp with her bare hands. "Won't this stain?" I ask. She shrugs and continues. "It doesn't really matter that much, rubber gloves have gone up in price lately," she replies. I raise my eyebrows at that but don't reply. "Quite a few things have been a little more expensive lately; there are always bursts of it. Last year there was a lack of jewels. Obviously I don't buy them but I enjoy window shopping greatly," she says, before going off on a rant about shopping and how much everything costs. I roll my eyes and get lost in my thoughts.

This is one of the largest differences between us. I refuse to go shopping and she wants to go every day. I just find it humiliating that I can't buy anything and I have to follow her around like a lost puppy as she buys an array of useless items. But I do love her, I really do, she is my closest friend, no matter what.

She takes her hands out of my hair. "Now we have to let it set for 20 minutes," she says in a sing-song voice. "Hooray," I answer sarcastically. She piles my hair on my head then roots through her drawers while talking to me.  
>"I'm scared about tomorrow," she admits.<br>"Me too, I'm in so many times that I can't even count how many," I confess.  
>"What will you do if you are picked?"<p>

"Well I probably won't be, the odds are against that," I point out.  
>"Well what would you do anyway, if you were," she sighs.<br>"I don't know. I would have to create some sort of tactic.." I trail off uncertainly. Rachella grabs something out of her drawer and places it on top of her desk. She turns around my chair to face the bed then sits on the mattress.  
>"I think I would act like a weakling. I would just cry all the time," she ponders.<p>

"You do that anyway," I taunt her and she pouts at me.  
>"No but seriously Johanna, I think that would work. I wouldn't make myself a threat. You see it every year. The Careers target the threats, the people with high scores and popularity. They don't give a shit about the weak kids, they only kill them if they accidentally stumble across them. They are hunters. And they hunt for those who are better than them," she declares, her tone daring me to disagree with her.<br>"That is actually a good idea," I mutter.  
>"Yeah, remember that, just in case," she exclaims.<p>

I roll my eyes. "We won't get picked. I am pretty sure the damn thing is rigged," I tell her.  
>"I'm still scared I will get picked though.. how will I survive? I have no skills.. I'll die," she wails. I cross my arms and give her a fierce look.<br>"If you are picked I will volunteer for you," I state fiercely.  
>Her eyes widen. "Johanna no! Don't say that! What if I am picked? I don't want you risking your life for me!" she replies, chewing on her lip.<br>"But you shouldn't die! I have barely anything apart from a drunkard of a father and a dying mother," I remind her bluntly of my living conditions.

"But-" she starts before I cut her off.  
>"No, stop arguing, and you won't get picked anyway," I say so convincingly that she finally shuts up about it. She sighs in defeat then her alarm rings.<br>"It has been 20 minutes," she grins, "Time to rinse it all out. Follow me to the bathroom." I oblige and trail after her, tilting my head so my hair doesn't fall everywhere.

She points me towards the sink. "Put your head in it," she demands and I raise my eyebrows before following her order. She turns on the warm water and for a few seconds it is freezing and I gasp. "Stop being such a drama queen Johanna." Grumbling at her, I let her run her hands through my hair and wash out all the dye. The water is stained a dark brown and I have to stop myself from making immature comments.  
>"It looks like someone has had some fucking serious diarrhoea," Rachella laughs, beating me to it.<p>

I laugh with her and watch as the water slowly goes clearer. I begin to imagine my dad's reaction and a shiver involuntarily goes through me. She turns the water off then wraps a towel around my head. "All done," she tells me, letting my finally stand up straight.  
>"When can I take the bloody towel off?" I scowl at her, feeling like a first class idiot with it piled on my head.<br>"When it is drier, and stop scowling, you won't win any boys looking like that," she jokes, poking me in the ribs.

I poke her back then start tickling her.  
>"You know that I would never want a boyfriend in a million years, boys are stinky," I grin, poking my tongue out at her.<br>"You will one day," she replies back, using a know-it-all voice. I pout at her then stop tickling her.  
>"I want to be single and free, who wants a man to tie them down!" I exclaim.<br>"You sound like one of those feminist people from the past," she laughs.

"You're the opposite of a feminist, you've had so many boyfriends I can't even remember half their names," I point out, still laughing a little.  
>"What can I say, I'm looking for the perfect man," she reasons, flipping her hair backwards and sticking out her bum a bit. "Do I look fat in this, darling?" she asks, copying the Capitol accent. I collapse in laughter, gripping at my sides.<p>

"You're impossible," I giggle, wiping tears from my eyes.  
>"Oh darling, those clothes you are wearing are sooo last week," she says sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes and draping a towel around her shoulders trying to imitate Capitol fashion.<br>"I know right, I feel so ashamed of myself. My appointment at the boutique was cancelled and I have felt so bad that I can't go shopping anymore. They won't dye my skin blue for another four weeks!" I say, over exaggerating my accent.

"That is outrageous! How are you expected to keep up with the fashion trends? Blue is the new pink after all!" Rachella replies before falling on the floor and laughing madly. We laugh uncontrollably for another minute before my lungs begin hurting.  
>"O-ok," I say between fits of giggles, "M-maybe that was a-a bit over... o-overboard." Rachella rolls her eyes and eventually we both stop laughing. I hear a distant knock downstairs and go to answer it but Rachel waves me off.<br>"My mum will get it," she tells me with a bright smile. We both look at each other for a second before laughing abruptly again. A loud banging on the bathroom door makes us both jump and I rush over to open it.

"Where have you been?" my father asks, his eyes bloodshot and his breath reeking of alcohol. He stumbles into the bathroom and pulls the towel off my head.  
>"WHAT IS THIS?!" he bellows at me, his whole face going purple. Rachella watches me from the side and looks ready to step in but I push her away a little, not knowing what my dad would do to her if she annoyed him.<br>"I had my hair styled," I say, my voice steady and daring.  
>"We are going home," he demands.<p>

When I don't move he leers towards me so his face is right in front of my face. "NOW!" He shouts, causing me to wince. Grabbing my arm, he drags me downstairs and out of their front door. The moment we are outside I sprint away from him, trying to get home before him. I hear him shouting behind me but even he knows he isn't in the right state to chase after me right now.

I hurtle myself through the front door and lock it behind me. My mother looks up at me from the couch and her mouth forms an O, probably from the sight of my hair. "Johanna?" she says weakly. Dad's shouts get in earshot and mother gives me a disapproving look. "What did you do now?" she rasps but we both know how terrified she really is of him. The door shakes as he attempts to get in. Her face contorts as she seems to be making a decision between letting me get away or letting him get me. "Go out of the window, I'll keep him distracted," she decides.

She starts coughing loudly and I know I have no choice but to help her. I run to her side and hold a tissue up to her mouth. She tries to take it but her arms are too weak to hold it properly. I glance at the tissue and see blood on it. My stomach twists inside me but I try not to worry about it. My mother is indestructible. She can fight through this, I just know it. The door smashes open and my father walks in.

All I can currently compare with him is an angry ogre, ready to attack. I make eye contact with him and cock my head, almost daring him to do something. He knows I can fight. Normally when I give this look he will shout then retreat to bed but I can see that right now he is royally pissed off with me, something which is actually hard to accomplish. He stumbles towards us and I move so that he doesn't accidentally hurt mum. I've seen him hit her before and I know that if he does now the action could end her life.

"Why did you do this?" he asks calmly, much too calmly for an angry drunk man.  
>"It wasn't my fau-" I start before he strikes me with his hand. I fall to the floor and blink a few times, my vision fuzzy. All I can feel is the instant pain flaring up in my cheek and arm which I landed awkwardly on. I stand up, wobbling a little.<p>

This only seems to rile him up more and he slaps me again. I sway on my feet but stay standing. I don't let out a cry, I don't want to show him that he is hurting me. "That all you got?" I say arrogantly without thinking. For a second I think his eyes turn blood red before I see his fist swinging towards me. My left eye suddenly goes completely black and I stumble, clutching at my face.

A strangled noise escapes my throat as he punches me again in the stomach. I bend over automatically and force myself to breath. My legs are kicked out from under me and I collapse to the floor, banging my head on a table in the process. He grabs my hair and pulls me up, earning a real scream out of me. I can vaguely hear my mum screaming at him to stop in the background. He pulls me into the bedroom and locks the door. He takes a swig of whiskey and turns towards me, hunger in his eyes. Before I can make any protest he pins me to the wall and fumbles around with his trousers. I screech and try to push him off me but the pain of moving my limbs makes me unable to fight back.

I cry out desperately, hoping for some neighbour to hear but I know that I have no chance. He pulls at my trousers and I uselessly attempt to slap his hands away. My own father, the man who is supposed to protect me, is now about to do unspeakable things. A rush of adrenaline goes through me and I claw at his hands, drawing blood. I kick him as hard as possible and push him away from me. I start attacking him in a craze, ripping through his skin and punching and kicking him. I yell insults at him and keep punching him blindly, not controlling my actions.

I knock him down onto the floor and keep attacking. With each punch I count it for something. This is for wasting all your money on drink. This is for not bothering to care about your wife. This is for bullying your children, so much that one left. Another one for hurting your wife. This punch is for trying to rape your own child. I keep going and going until his face is bloody. I stop punching him and I stare down at him in disbelief and horror. Looking at my fists, I see the blood on them and I take a deep breath. What have I done? I slowly creep out of the bedroom and relock the door behind me.

I pull a few chairs in front of it and glance at my mother, who is asleep. How could she be asleep with all the noise going on? My eyes widen in fear and I stumble over to check her pulse. I let out a sigh of relief when I can still feel it but it is very weak. I walk around, my mind blank. What should I do? I grab a jar off the table and push the barrier of chairs out of the way and enter the bedroom. I open the lid shakily, feeling like I'm not really there, like I'm not really in my body. I nearly killed him. I could have killed my own father if I had wanted to.

The thoughts going through my mind all haunt me and I close my eyes in an attempt to block them out. My head is reeling and I hear a ringing in my ears. I pour the contents of the jar into his open mouth and wait until he swallows the liquid. I stare at his knocked out body then back at my hands. I did this. All me. I keep blinking, expecting to wake up from this nightmare. It all feels so surreal. I recheck the label on the jar. Sleep syrup. That should keep him out for a day or two. I feel like I can't properly control my actions, like I'm in some sort of dream.

I will suddenly shoot up in my bed and realise it was a dream, then I will go to the Reaping. I would be a perfect tribute. I was on the verge of killing a family member. If that doesn't say cold blooded murderer with no feelings then I don't know what does. I go out of the room, forgetting to close the door. I twitch a bit, the pain suddenly becoming a lot more real, making me return to reality. My vision is slightly cloudy but there is nothing I can do about that now. I used up all of the good medicine on my mother. I collapse into the corner of the room, staring at my hands. I try to will myself to cry, to feel remorse but I can't. I just feel empty. I let my eyelids droop and I fall asleep.

I wake up, immediately shooting to my feet. I let out a yelp as all the pain registers in my limbs. The morning sunlight streams in through the window and my mum is still sleeping on the couch. I don't want to go check on my dad, I know the syrup will keep him out for a while. All the events from last night slowly go back into my head and I sway a little, my body aching.

I drag a large metal bucket from under the table and put it in the middle of the room. I fill it with lukewarm water straight from the taps. Our water is cheap and dirty and comes straight from a lake. It isn't cooler or heated but fortunately the lake isn't completely freezing. I dip my hands in and scrub them, watching as the blood on them stains the water slightly red. Feeling slightly awkward with my mother facing me, although she is asleep, I move her body so she is facing the other side of the room. I strip off and get into the tub, shivering at the temperature.

I rub bad quality homemade soap over my body and use a jug to get the water through my hair. I grab the ragged old towel and climb out of the tub and wrap it around myself. After drying off both my hair and body, I root through the cupboard to get the dress Rachella gave me. I had to hide it at the back so my dad wouldn't find it and try to sell it. I put on my underwear then slip the dress over my head. It is a faded blue colour and it is quite simple but the perfect outfit for the Reaping. I go back into the cupboard and find a smashed mirror that belonged to my grandmother. I look at my reflection and force myself not to drop it to the ground. My eye is completely black and my cheek is swollen.

My facial expression is distressed and I feel like a monster. Nothing can cover this. It is proof that I have been beaten, and I don't want to get cornered into being asked a multitude of questions about what happened. I know for a fact that Rachella will flip shit when she sees me after the Reaping. I brush through my hair with a worn out comb and splash some water onto my face. Now my hair is too short to hide my face. I clamp my hand over my mouth in order to stop the sobs from escaping. The seriousness of the situation has finally hit me.

I have nowhere to go, I am not safe anywhere. I might as well get reaped, it will be better than being beaten and God knows what by my dad. I shake the thoughts out of my head and take deep breaths. The dusty clock hanging above the wall shows the time as being 8 am. The Reaping starts in 15 minutes. I curse under my breath and make my way to the town centre. There are practically crowds walking down the streets.

There are quite a lot of glances thrown my way and I can hear the odd comment about my face. I get to the centre and go into the roped off area for 16 year old females. I hold my head up high, ignoring the stares from my classmates. My eyes wander to the 12 year old sections and my heart clenches at the sight of it. So many young people, crying their eyes out, calling out for their parents and quivering in fear. I bite down my harsh words towards the Capitol which I want to shout out and force my vision to focus on the front.

The District 7 escort makes her way out of the Justice Building and smiles down at all of us. She tells us what an honour it is to come here and I don't even bother trying to stop myself rolling my eyes. "Yeah right," I mumble under my breath. The large screen above the Building turns on and the tedious film about Panem and the Hunger Games starts playing. I mouth the words, having learned it all from the ridiculous amounts of time I have watched it. The film finishes and the screen is now showing our escort again.

I never even bothered to learn her name. All I know is that she adores the rainbow, as it is very obviously portrayed at her inability to wear anything but a multitude of colours in her clothing. I don't think I have ever seen her wear an item of clothing that hasn't got at least 3 different colours incorporated into it. She goes over to the large glass ball, her heels tapping on the stage. She clears her throat. "Ladies first," she says in her ridiculous accent. She reaches into the ball and fishes a slip of paper out with her fake talon-like nails.

Clearing her throat again, she calls out, "And our first female Tribute is..." she pauses to pull out the piece of paper. "Johanna Mason!"

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><p><strong><em>Here it is, chapter one of Johanna Mason's story. I was originally going to have it in the same world as my other Fanfiction Ocean Waves however I decided against it so this is going to be in the Hunger Games world that Suzanne Collins created.<em>**

**_I will appreciate reviews and comment if you see any mistakes_**

**_Thanks for reading_**

**_-Danielle _**


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